


Firelight

by MarrowLark



Category: Don't Starve (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, Implied/Referenced Suicide attempts, Past Maxwell/Charlie - Freeform, Physical Pain, Vomiting, charlie suffers a lot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-20
Updated: 2018-02-20
Packaged: 2019-03-21 14:30:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13742934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarrowLark/pseuds/MarrowLark
Summary: Charlie was afraid of the dark, once.





	Firelight

The curtain of light from the campfire hides Winona and Maxwell; it burns Charlie’s eyes as she tries to look at them, but it’s fine. They’ve been discussing her, and Winona is too hasty to keep discussing much longer.

Charlie watches as her older sister steps into the dark and throws her arms up. “Come and get me!” Winona yells. Just as Charlie had expected.

Charlie lunges at Winona and swipes at her face, but Winona shoves her arm the other way. Charlie spins around and lunges at Winona from behind, clawing this way and that, but Winona ducks and jumps and, somehow, dodges everything.

The light prickles at her arms. A wave of desire for it crashes over her. It's nothing she can’t handle, though. She’s felt this before.

Charlie sees Maxwell’s arm groping in the dark, and her claws dig into it. He screams and pulls it back.

She turns back to Winona and tries to jump on her, but Winona ducks and pulls Charlie over her shoulder into the firelight.

Charlie lands on the ground and suddenly her dress is a billion needles cutting into her everywhere at once. It’s lava, like drinking boiling water after being in the desert all your life, it’s too much too soon and it _hurts_ , she can’t stop screaming. But then, the ground is almost worse, it's freezing against her fingers and she thinks her hands might very well becomes frostbitten and fall off. This is it, isn’t it, she’s going to die like this, burn until she breaks and the ground cradles her ragged mess and cools the ashes-

Then just as soon as it had started, it stops.

Charlie’s breath is ragged and broken, and she coughs. Tears are streaming down her face, no emotion behind them. Voices pool around her, distorted and unintelligible.

Something surges in her guts again, and she pitches forward onto her hands and knees and retches. There’s less this time, and eventually there’s none left and she’s only dry retching. She sits up.  
Charlie is suddenly aware that she is _achingly_ hungry.

A weight lifts before she can stop it and a giggle bubbles up out of her. Her chest feels light again, but now it feels like freedom instead of impending death.

Then panic seizes her and she stops giggling. They’re going to come for her now. How could she be so stupid? Her darkness is… less, somehow. Maybe it would’ve been alright, only Charlie had had the audacity to feel _happy_ about it, and now They’re going to come for her. They- They aren’t even going to kill her, They’re going to torture her like they did Maxwell, They’re going to force her onto the Throne for an eternity and forever. And all because she was foolish enough to want this, to want… her freedom. It would have been bad enough had it been accidental, but this…

Maxwell had tried to kill himself on the throne multiple times, and They had never let him die. Maybe if she kills herself now, before They find her and put her on it, she’ll make it out.

Finally, she opens her eyes, and Their black hands are all around her, and she can hear shrieking somewhere that sounds like herself, but it’s not her, what is that noise?

They must be back for her. Her life is going to end like this, in hot, bitter euphoria with her body screaming.

“Winona, the light,” Charlie says before she can stop herself. “Winona, you, it…”

And then Charlie is facing the light again, and the hands are gone. She shudders, the memory of them imprinted on her skin.

The campfire is small, but serviceable. She had almost forgotten that Maxwell is still there, sitting across from them. His shadow puppets are standing around him, but then they vanish with a twist of his hand. He looks haggard. The wound on his arm is obviously painful, but it seems like more than that.

Her hands and face prickle under the light, but it’s nowhere near as bad as before. Winona hands Charlie a damp cloth and a waterskin. “Clean up.”

Charlie wipes her mouth and hands with it as Maxwell keeps staring. The cloth is soon stained with oily black, and- green-yellow. Vomit, actual vomit. It’s reassuring, even if her instincts are somewhat horrified.

She sets the cloth down and brushes her clothes off a bit and pours water from the small waterskin into her mouth until the bitterness subsides somewhat. Christ, Charlie needs a shower… or whatever passes for showering out here in the wilderness.

If only she had the strength to channel her magic right now. Actually, can she even still use it? Maxwell can, but then, his is channeled through his book, and it wasn’t ever a part of him anyway… It might be now, though. The shadows didn’t look like him before.

Speaking of Maxwell, he’s still staring at her. Her stomach growls, and laughter seizes her before she can say anything to him. She doubles over chuckling. Winona rummages through a backpack and says, “Hungry, huh?” and all Charlie can do is nod, still laughing and staring at the dirt, its smell sharp in her nose. Her chest hurts, but this pain is human, and she relishes in it. She’s already betrayed Them, how badly can They possibly hurt her?

(Very badly, she knows, but she doesn’t have it in her to care right now.)

The berries Winona gives her are juicy and bitter, and the sensation floods her senses. Her mouth and nose tingle slightly. She closes her eyes for a moment, then reopens them.

Maxwell is wrapping some spiderwebs around his arm as a faux bandage. It bleeds through almost immediately. She’s almost sorry.

Almost.

“How’re you feeling, Charlie?” Winona asks.

Charlie stares at the berries in her lap and the bright red juice on her fingers and exhales. “Better, I suppose,” she replies, as aloof as she can muster. She feels their eyes burning into her and internally shivers, but she doesn’t let her appearance betray any of it, not after… that. She hates them almost as much as she hates herself.

Her hands are still shaking slightly, but the nausea and hunger are gone. Exhaustion presses down on her. She shuts her eyes.

“Ready to talk?” Winona asks, still close to her. Go away, Charlie thinks, but the words won’t leave her mouth.

“No,” Charlie replies.

“Then get some rest. Lord knows you need it, after that.”

Even with her eyes closed, she can still see the light. Charlie would rather be anywhere else right now.

* * *

Charlie wakes up cold. Her bones hurt, and her chest feels light, like it might collapse in and crush her. Still, it’s different, and she’s at least sort of grateful for that, if panicked.

She’s in a tent. It’s warmer than the autumn chill, but not by much. She’s wearing someone else’s shirt and pants, and her dress is on the ground next to her. She sits up and instantly regrets it, pain hitting her skull faster than the blood that she may or may not still have.

Looking around, it seems to be Winona’s tent. It would be large enough for a few people if there wasn’t a crude bench and a table on one end. She stands and walks to the bench, sits down. A few rolls of tape rest on the table with a blunt axe, and Charlie briefly considers trying to bash her head in with the axe before They find her.

...No, she has other business to take care of first. Before she can stand, Maxwell, of all people, walks in. Just the person she was looking for. He has to bend down somewhat to stand. It’s absolutely hilarious, but she doesn’t laugh.

“What do you want,” she says, turning around so she’s facing him completely.

“There are some things you should know,” Maxwell says. He looks almost apologetic, like he did before when they were alone together. Now, it just annoys her more. She had thought it was just a quirk, but… Really, she should’ve seen all of this coming.

“Such as?”

“You…” He breathes in and exhales, and it’s shaky, almost like he’s going to cry. “I lied to you. I’ve wanted to make things right since then, Charlie, but-”

“Lied about what?” Charlie isn’t particularly interested in his blathering, but maybe They’ll spare her if she has more information. Information that he probably went over when he was talking to himself on the Nightmare Throne, but… Well, it doesn’t matter yet.

“I. I never did tell you my name.”

Charlie’s hands curl into delicate fists in her lap.

“I… William. William Carter.” He rubs one hand over the other, then drops them both. “Although, I haven’t used that name in ages. William might as well be dead.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“I-... When I was-” he gulps, “Experimenting with the Codex Umbra, one day, a shadow appeared to me. It didn’t do anything, but it was out of my control. I had imagined that if the Codex would gain its own will, I would be the only one affected. I’m… I’m so sorry, Charlie. I’m so sorry for all of this.” He opens his mouth, as if to say more, then closes it.

Her hands tremble as hot, wet flame rises up her chest and nose and burns through her brain. “You didn’t care enough to tell me before, then.”

“No, that isn’t-”

“We were nothing,” she says delicately. “You wouldn’t even tell me your name? How long has it been since we met?” They were nothing. She meant nothing to him. All of it was for _nothing_.

Maxwell doesn’t argue for a while. Then he says, “I was stupid. I never wanted to hurt you. I did love you.”

“You were a fool, she says. “But I suppose I was more of a fool to follow you.”

“No, you weren’t-”

“You are a disgusting excuse for a human being. You ruined my life.”

“I realize that,” Maxwell says, and he seems to deflate. They’re both silent for a time.

She clenches and unclenches her fists, and the black swells up in her head and arm again. She stands and walks towards him. The hand that isn’t ruined with night is stained with oil and ash. _Her_ oil and ash. It’s still there, even though the worst is gone. She wonders what else has changed.

Anger and heat and frustration burn in her chest and throat and nose, cold as night and hot as fever.

Charlie’s hands curl around Maxwell’s throat as delicately as anything and squeeze. Guttural noises come out of his mouth, his adam’s apple bobs, his hands twitch, but he doesn’t lift a finger to stop her. He sounds so desperate, but he’s not. Not really. He _wants_ this. The thought is sickening.

“Fight _back_ ,” she growls. “You’ve already ruined my life. Why won’t you fight back? At least let me have this.”

She squeezes harder. Maxwell still does nothing. Tears well up in her eyes. She blinks until they fall out and tilts her head, squeezes until she’s veritably crushing his windpipe.

Maxwell does nothing.

And then Winona pries her hands off his throat, and that’s it. “I almost had it,” Charlie murmurs, and Winona holds Charlie’s thin wrists and pulls her in for a painfully tight hug that crushes the wind out of her. Winona calls for someone.

The anger deflates like a balloon that never fully inflated, that someone had tried and tried to fill and eventually just gave up and let it out.

Maxwell is coughing and hacking somewhere a hundred miles away, not that it particularly matters. Charlie is… empty, and nothing more. The hollowness in her chest rather hurts.

Charlie clutches at Winona’s shirt and presses herself to her, breathing slowly. Winona rubs her back the way she used to when they were kids.

“Charlie, please,” Winona says. “Don’t do this.”

Charlie’s voice is quiet when she speaks. “I’m not your little sister anymore.”

“You’ll always be my little sister.”

Charlie inhales hard and shudders. “You know, They’re still out there. We’re nothing but chess pieces to Them. What does it matter if one kills another, when we’ll all die anyway?” There’s an ache behind her eyes.

“We saved you, you aren’t under anyone’s control anymore, and neither are we. You can’t just let yourself be this, this evil… thing. This ain’t like you.”

“It’s perfectly like me. You don’t know me anymore, Winona. I’ve killed plenty. And besides that, he actually deserves it.”

“I don’t buy that you wanted that for a second. You can’t just go around murdering people left and right, no matter how terrible you think you are.”

“I’m not…” The words die on her tongue, lie heavy in her mouth.

“Whatever, Charlie. Just don’t do stuff like that. I swear, you’re going to be the death of me..” Winona chuckles a bit and pats her back as if they still have something. The anger flares in her again, then dies out immediately. It’s replaced with something she can’t quite identify.

“I could kill you in an instant. And anyone else.” The words come out of her mouth like she’s not even the one saying them.

“You won’t. You’re still my sister.”

Charlie is too tired to argue, she isn’t quite sure what to do with the mess of emotion in her chest, so she wraps her arms around Winona and lets her head drop against her sister’s shoulder. She cries, just a bit.


End file.
